Assassin's Creed: Enemy Lines
by Kohl A
Summary: This modern day story follows Dean Pearce and his squad and their fight against the Templars.
1. Introduction

The hum of the engine was lulling Dean to sleep, but Anatoly nudged him to keep awake.

"Stay awake, man, we're almost at the checkpoint!" He whispered in his slight Serbian accent. Dean straightened his back and checked his gear. He tightened the straps on his knife holster, secured the silenced Makarov on his left thigh, and pulled up his hood. He looked around the van's compartment, at his fellow assassins.

To his left was Anatoly, his closest partner. He wore his hair closely shaved to his head, which showed a long scar running from the center of his scalp down his right temple. Anatoly was Dean's partner on many other missions before, and a strong bond grew between them after Anatoly saved his life in the firefight that broke out when trying to reclaim a "Subject 17" in a enemy facility raid three months before. Across from him was Bill, a heavily built man with strong features. He was securing his equipment to his flak vest as he zipped up his duffel bag. In the center of the van was Amanda, a short brunette who was the team's coordinator. She sat cross legged on the floor of the van with a laptop in front of her, her fingers dancing across the keyboard only leaving from their station to grab the can of energy drink that sat next to her.

Suddenly, the van slowed, everyone jerked forward, Amanda's drink almost tipping over. Without a word spoken, Bill opened the back doors and they filed out, all except for Amanda, who would direct them through their mission. About 200 meters west of their position was their objective, a 100 foot tall concrete wall that surrounded a white building with blue glazed windows. They were to break into the Abstergo facility and collect "The Package", some important object that would supposedly help turn the tides in their Cold War.

"Testing headset connection," Amanda's calm, cool voice crackled to life in his earpiece, "Alright, first objective is to breach the perimeter… More info when you get there. Oh, and Dean? Use your… Talent to help."

He knew what she meant, as did Anatoly and Bill. He had what the Assassin's called "Eagle Vison", sort of a sixth sense that helped him distinguish his targets from the world around them. The trio set out through the forest that surrounded the perimeter of the enemy fortress.

They approached the wall and inspected it for a way up. Bill, being the strong silent type, pointed towards a tower overlooking the inner courtyard. Anatoly took point and started climbing, stepping up the wall and pushing off, dangling off a light post, and pulled himself up to grab the window sill that lead inside the tower.

Just as he was about to pull himself up, the headset crackled to life. "Be careful! Guards are on high alert for some reason. Security has been doubled… stay in the dark." A watch guard leaned on the window sill, the same one Anatoly was dangling from.

"Shall I take him out?" Anatoly whispered, "Quickly! I'm losing grip! Dean flashed him the okay hand signal. Anatoly pulled himself up slightly, grabbed the collar of the guard, who struggled for his breath and balance, and was dragged out the window, falling fifteen feet, landing back first on a log with a thump. Bill ran up to him. He was still alive, coughing up blood, but still alive. Anatoly pulled himself inside of the control room. "Setting up a hacking module, you'll be our eyes, Mandy". Dean cringed at the fact his best friend used his sister's pet name. A few minutes pass, the distant sounds of guards chatter and crickets chirping resonated in the background.

"Hacking's done, you should be able to access the compound using a keycard off of that guard as well." He peaked out the window and flashed the other two the room secured signal. Dean cut the key card off of the guard's belt, Bill nodded and proceeded to scale the wall.

Dean pulled himself over the railing. He scoped out the main entrance, twelve guards and a janitor. Behind the janitor was a door, probably leading into a maintenance hall. Anatoly was helping pull Bill up over the wall's railing, whose equipment hindered his freerunning abilities.

"Next objective; break in and find the Package." Bill dropped the duffel bag ,assembled his rifle and patted down his vest. "You need help, you call me," he said with his slight hispanic accent, waving a detonator in his hand. Dean and Anatoly acknowledged by giving him the okay signal as they ran the opposite direction, towards their next objective.

Suddenly, a man's voice was heard, "Wilson! I repeat, are you still at your post?" They ducked low, a patrol of two men were directly below them. One had a radio, tall and large, while his partner was short and well built. He released the button on his two-way,"I swear to God, He's going to get in deep shit if the boss catches him AWOL again," He told his partner, who shrugged.

Dean spoke into his earpiece, "Permission to use lethal force?" he asked his sister. It took her a while to respond, but eventually her voice crackled into his earpiece, "HQ Gives it the A-Ok." Anatoly turned to Dean, they both nodded, and approached the ledge of the wall.

The Serb whispered, "I'll take the fat one, you take the short one." Dean pat his friend's back for approval. Anatoly unholstered his silenced .50 cal handgun and aimed down its ironsights while Dean flicked his wrist knife out. "Take 'em out on three," Dean said, "One, two…" Anatoly pulled the trigger, the massive round ripped through the air into the guard's ear without a sound. He died before he hit the ground. Before the other guard could call for reinforcements Dean leaped from the railing and landed on top of the guard, the knife plunged into his throat. Dean got up and flicked the knife back as Anatoly dropped and rolled behind him. The two dragged the bodies and threw them into a dumpster situated next to the cold concrete wall of the facility.

"Take the maintenance room entrance," Amanda's voice piped up over the eerie silence, "that's the quickest way towards the room containing the Package."

They had a chance to move towards the door, left open by the janitor who took a drag on his cigarette, but Bill's voice crackled into his ear, "A large patrol is spotted around the corner of your position, Someone must have seen you two!" It was odd hearing a hint of worry in Bill's voice, so the two quickly darted behind a bulkhead. Anatoly peered around to see a group of six people, and a look of confusion flashed across his face. This didn't seem like any normal type of guard troupe, they weren't wearing the standard grey and yellow Abstergo guard uniform. They wore street clothes; some with jackets, some wore hoodies, but all wore an armband with a number on it. Curious, Dean strained his eyes, activating his Eagle Vision. Suddenly, the background became dark and misty. Anatoly had a bright blue glow surrounding him, showing him as an ally. Dean looked up at the group, expecting the usual red, which annotated anyone with ill intentions, but no… They blended in with the background, a grey-blue. They huddled together for a couple of seconds, then ran off in all directions in groups of two, as if they were looking for something… or someone. With two of the street-guards coming towards the position and no time, Anatoly and Dean jumped into the dumpster, the two dead guards still warm under them. As the guards passed, they noticed the blood on the floor, stopping their patrol. One stooped down and ran his fingers through the blood patch, the other talked into her headset. The headset guard patted her partner on the back, broke into a sprint and climbed the wall that Dean and Anatoly were on minutes before.

Dean turned to Anatoly, " Some sort of special guard group is around… They might prove a threat. If you see them, take them out." Anatoly nodded. They snuck towards the door, choked out the janitor in a sleeper hold, and crept into the back halls of the facility…


	2. The Facility

**THE FACILITY**

Minutes passed as the duo snaked their way through the maintenance halls, following Amanda's directions. Eerily, there were no employees; no guards, no technicians, not even another janitor.

"The mainframe shows a heavily guarded area in your sector. Chances are that's where The Package is." Amanda told them, sounding a little excited. Dean and Anatoly sprinted off and around a corner, bumping in to two men. One was a tall black guy, who wore a puffy vest and the number '32' on his arm while his partner, who seemed to be Korean, wore a green jacket and '53'. Expecting them to raise the alarm, Anatoly quick-drew his pistol and fired at the guards. Guard '32' took a round in the throat, clutching at the oozing wound with a rasp. Before he could get hit, Guard '53' ducked behind a bulkhead, the silenced rounds pocking the wall behind him. As Anatoly fumbled with a fresh magazine, the guard leaped from his hiding spot, throwing a knife as a distraction. As Anatoly slapped the fresh rounds in, in rapid succession he raised his gun and fired, deflecting the knife to the floor. As his eyes refocused from the flash of steel in the air, Dean saw the guard charge, his stun baton extended. As he swung, Dean ducked, flicked out his wrist blade, and rammed it into Guard '53"s sternum. Throwing the body to the ground, Dean turned to his partner. Anatoly was alright, a singe mark on his cheek from the stun baton was the only damage.

Suddenly a burst of static blasted through their earpieces, "… Compromised… Cross… Escape…" Bill was frantic. Suddenly, alarms blared and lights flashed.

"We have to go," Dean said pulling his gun out, "We need to regroup, get out, and get to the safehouse." He began to set off for the maintenance exit they used to break in, but Anatoly darted towards the heavy barred door the guards were protecting.

"We are so close, we can't leave empty handed!" He said, swiping the security card. The electrical locks in the door buzzed, the door swung open. Reluctant at first, Dean decided to follow his friend. He didn't like it, but Anatoly hasn't been wrong before.

Stepping silently into the dimly lit room, the duo scoped it out. It was a small room, big enough room to fit maybe a minivan or two, sound-proof insulated walls, and one other entrance opposite to the one they used. In the center, the Package was perched in a glass box upon a pedestal. It was an orb made out of a dull gold material, yet it shone brightly in the dim light. Anatoly waved at the camera in the far corner of the room, to which Amanda replied in a frustrated flurry of expletives. Jogging towards the orb, Anatoly holstered his gun, smashed the glass that encased it, and proceeded to pick up the Package. As his hands came closer to it, the glow of the orb intensified. As he picked it up, the lights that emitted from the Package pulsed, illuminating the entire room.

"Not. So. Fast… Assassin." A man's voice growled behind them. Dean turned in synch with Anatoly to face six of those numbered guards. They blocked the entrances, shoulder to shoulder, guns aimed at the two Assassins. One man stepped out from the group. He wasn't that tall, long black coat, yellow trimmed hood, and his dirty blonde hair was matted with something… Blood? Side stepping towards his partner, Dean distanced himself from the man, lowering his gun. The bloodied guard stepped closer, "You cunts think you can walk in to my property, kill my men, steal my prize and expect to get out alive…?" He turned to face his group as he chuckled, his men laughing with him. "I think you owe us, bitch." Dean dropped his gun as the man pressed his own weapon to Dean's temple, not daring to say a word. "Now," he turned to Anatoly, who stood still, the Package still in his hand, "Put. Down. The Apple."

Anatoly, with an angry expression etched across his face, raised his arm. The Package pulsed and emitted light, which appeared to form tendrils of gold. Squeezing his eyes shut, Dean became petrified with awe. He heard muffled screams of pain and crying, The man that was once threatening him was on the floor,writhing.

As the lights dimmed, Dean hesitantly opened his eyes. The six guards were on the floor, laying still, their faces frozen with agony. Dean stood, shaking, What the hell did Anatoly do? He turned to his partner, who was on his knees, his angry expression was now blank, eyes glazed over. Dean kneeled, shaking his friend by his shoulders. "A-Anatoly? You there? You okay? Anatoly?" Dean was frantic. Anatoly slowly turned his head, facing Dean. He mouthed something, but before Dean could ask, a muffled boom erupted from behind him, ringing in his ear. The round rocketed through the air, entered Anatoly's forehead and sprayed his brains out onto the floor behind him. Dean blinked the blood from his eyes, and started kicking and scrambling to distance himself from his friend's corpse, gasping and tearing up. Dean turned to see the man who was threatening him moments before survived, waving his gun with a wild look in his eyes as he spoke in some European language. Dean scooped up the Package, which was no longer glowing, out of Anatoly's blood-soaked lap and scrambled out of the room. He couldn't stay, he was scared. He couldn't fight, he was physically drained. For the first time in a while he was genuinely scared.


	3. The Escape

**THE ESCAPE**

Dean stumbled outside, tripping on the lip of the door frame. He fell face first into a puddle, the rain tapping the hard concrete floor around him. Amanda wasn't returning his call over the headset. Everything that could have gone wrong, has gone wrong. Sitting up right in the filthy puddle, he pondered his next move. He was too weak to scale the walls, he couldn't fight back… The weight of the Package started to hinder him further. Dean wanted to give up.

"Over here!" a gruff voice called. Dean turned his head towards the source, a silhouette of a man was running towards him.

"…Bill…?" Dean croaked, struggling to his feet. As he got closer, he saw that this was not his friend, but one of those guards under the command of the bloodied man from earlier. Dean raised his arms in defense, the weight of his wrist blade seeming to weigh a ton. The guard swung his rifle stock, connecting with Dean's jaw. Dean lay there, choking on his teeth, as the man planted a foot on his back. He heard the thundering of more guards coming his way. The guard laid into him, wailing on Dean with his rifle stock and boot. Dean was coming to terms with reality. Other than the boot in his side, he was feeling remorse. He was sorry he couldn't save Anatoly, sorry he couldn't see his sister one last time, sorry that he failed his Order… He closed his eyes and waited for death. His vision fading, Dean knew his fate…

KABOOM! An eruption of light and heat blasted through the otherwise dark and damp atmosphere of the compound. Dean managed to open his eyes a sliver. He saw flames and panic consume the guards, running amok and shouting into their earpieces. A firefight erupted in front of him, some of the guards falling to a barrage of bullets. An arm wrapped itself around Dean, lifting him up and off the ground, over the shoulder of the person who was lifting him up. Dean's last view of the compound was that of flames and ruin, bodies strewn across the courtyard. A single man stood still in the chaos. The dirty blonde man in the long black coat, his golden eyes piercing Dean's very soul. A scowl of rage and hate was etched across the man's face as he roared, echoing in Dean's head as the foliage of the forest swallowed him up.


	4. The Order

**THE ORDER**

The glazed blue window washed Dean with soft light, slowly bringing him to his senses. God knows how long he was out. His right cheek was swollen to the size of a tennis ball, he felt the pits where his teeth were with his tongue. Laying in bed he tried to piece together what the hell happened that night. The Package emitted a bright light that brought everyone to their knees… His closest friend, Anatoly, was dead, his brains blown out by that man with the dirty blonde hair and black jacket… Dean sat up and examined the room. It was a dull room, hospital-like. There was nothing on the walls but the cracking paint. The seat that was stationed next to his bed had his bag on it, the large lump that was the Package was no longer there. He swung his legs over the edge of the bed and stood up, walking towards the closet on the opposite wall. He slid the hanging door to the side with a little struggle… He was either still weak from the Package's effects or the door weighed a significant amount more than a balsa wood door should have. In the closet was a clean white hoodie and a weathered brown jacket. Deciding against the hoodie, he threw the jacket on over his grey t-shirt. Shuffling towards the metal door, Dean strained his eyes to peak through the smudged glass. As he opened the door he immediately recognized the building. It was the safe house, a small warehouse owned by the Order in Queens, New York. Down the hall was the meeting room, where a heated debate was being made. Dean lumbered down the hall, the muffled, frustrated voices raising and quieting every odd second.

"… We can't risk it…!" One voice hissed.

"Well… It's necessary…" Another stressed.

Dean pushed the door open, and the arguing came to a halt as everyone looked at him. He barely recognized Bill with his head wrapped in a bandage, covering a good portion of his head and left eye. The others, a couple men and women, and countless others on a monitor being spoken to via webcam all laid their eyes on him.

"Dean…" Bill said, walking towards his partner. Dean followed Bill's hands as they raised and fell onto his shoulders. "We have to speak…". As Bill guided Dean towards a chair at the edge of the table, the discussion continued.

"I don't care what the price is," someone over webcam spoke, "We need to send a team to Dublin to ensure the safety of my documents!" The pixelized video showed a balding man with fiery red hairs that engulfed his chin. The discussion continued as Bill filled Dean in. The man on the webcam is a researcher, Matt Donahue, who needs safe passage to Montreal to get his research on other items much like the Package to some associates.

"Now," A black man, wearing a sweater vest and glasses spoke above everyone else, and they all listened, "We are already undermanned, we lost half a team, we-"

"What?!" Dean interrupted, "What do you mean half a team? Who's missing?" Dean scanned the room. The room broke into a murmer, the black man staring Dean down. He didn't see Amanda.

"Son, Is there something wrong?" The man tensed in front of Dean. He was bigger than Dean initially thought, appearing to be a good foot taller than him.

"Sorry, Nick, sir," Bill stepped in, diffusing the tension. "His sister is among the ones we've lost…" Dean whipped around to meet Bill's eye, sorrow veiled across his rugged, bandaged face.

"… 'Manda's d-dead…?" Dean whimpered.

Bill looked down at his feet. "Not dead, missing." Dean breathed a sigh… Not of relief, but of disbelief. Bill patted Dean's shoulder, " As we retreated, we came across the van, ransacked of her and our equipment." Among the various emotions he felt, Dean also felt the eyes of everyone in the room drilling into the back of his skull. He noticed the awkward silence. He felt the beating of blood through his swollen cheek.

Dean turned to face Nick. "I know what you're thinking, Dean." Nick walked around the table to Dean's side, " You want to find her, to get revenge on whoever is responsible for killing your friend." He locked eyes with Dean, the intensity that was before is now a softer, more understanding look. "It isn't our way though, to act upon revenge. In the mean time, I believe it might be time to send you on a mission." Dean started searching for the words to decline the offer, they were indeed down half a team. "We have a lead to who might have killed your friend in Dublin. Help Mr. Donahue, you might, _might,_ just find your sister."

Dean looked around the room. "If I do this, I'm going to need help." Everyone he locked eyes with looked away. His heart sank.

"We'll do it," a voice piped up from the corner of the room. The crowd parted to show a short, black haired woman wearing a grey jumpsuit. "The name's Rebecca. I knew Amanda, a good girl. We'll help." She gestured to two men behind her, "This is Shaun, the tactician of the group," A bespectacled man pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose and waved. "And this is Desmond, the… muscle of the group," A second man perked up and turned around from the refreshment table, looking surprised. He had short black hair, a scar across his lip.

Dean stepped towards the trio, a wave of energy suddenly lifting his spirit up.

"Welcome to the team," he said, with an outstretched hand.

Wiping icing sugar off his hand onto his jeans, Desmond returned the handshake.


	5. The Day

**THE DAY**

It was days since Dean last called, busy with his studies. He was angry with himself. Sometimes, he even regretted leaving the family home in Vancouver to go to school in Toronto. But it was necessary, he needed to go to school to get that dream job and bring the money home to fund his family. Last time he saw Lou, his family husky, he was walking with a limp. Poor thing couldn't have more than five years left…

He walked the down town street back to his apartment, to cook up something fast to eat and finish his term paper. In his pocket, he felt the buzz of his cellphone's silenced tone.

"**Mandy: **get 2 my place, need hlp - **Sent at 7:34pm"**

Dean was slightly worried, Amanda's diction, even during text, have always been impeccable, she must have been in a rush when she sent it. He thrusted his phone back into his pocket, and sped his pace up, detouring towards his sister's dormitory off campus.

"Amanda?" Dean knocked on the door as he stepped into the apartment. He smelled the scent of tea freshly brewed, Amanda always brewed tea when frustrated.

"In here," Amanda called out from the kitchen area, "Take off your shoes".

Dean kicked his shoes off into the mat and went to meet his sister. She was wrapped in a blanket sitting on the floor.

"What's wrong?" Dean knelt down and held her hands.

"Remember…" She sipped her tea, "That guy I thought was following me…?" She pulled the blanket off and exposed a bruised wrist.

"He did this to you?" Dean said as he inspected her arm, it wasn't that bad, but his blood started to boil.

"Yeah, I think he's outside still…" Amanda said, taking another sip of tea.

Dean took long strides towards the window and peaked between the blinds. Out on the street he could see the man, leaning on a wall looking at the apartment. He turned to his sister, "Lock the door, don't answer it unless I say to, okay?"

Amanda looked concerned, but nodded anyways. Dean closed the door behind him as he left the apartment and marched down the stairs, he was going to confront this man once and for all.

"Hey!" Dean shouted, half way across the street. The man perked up and started walking away. "Hey! I'm talking to you!" Dean jogged up behind the man and grabbed him by the shoulder. The man whipped around, swinging a pocket knife at Dean's abdomen. Dean jumped backwards and assumed the defensive stance he learned from his taekwondo lessons he had as a kid. The man took another swing, leaving his side open for a well placed kick to the liver. Growling in pain, the man threw his puny knife at Dean in desperation, it clattered across the floor fruitlessly.

"This isn't the end!" I'll bring my friends, you bitch!" The man, gripping his side, ran off into the night. He wasn't a threat anymore. Sighing, Dean relaxed his stance and stooped to pick up the knife. Manipulating it's gripped handle in his hands, he thought to himself…

_What have I gotten myself into?_


	6. The Flight

**THE FLIGHT**

Two days passed since the meeting. Dean, as well as the others, secured fake identifications, papers, and alibis just in case things went south. Dean and Bill were waiting in the JFK International Airport Terminal, waiting for the other three. Looking over his papers, he skimmed over his story:

**NAME: Hoover, Jeremy**

**Date: 18/10/10**

**…**

**REASON TO TRAVEL: Family Funeral**

**…**

**DESTINATION: Dublin, Ireland**

"Jeremy Hoover," Dean repeated his new name to himself. He liked the ring of it.

"There they are," Bill said exasperatedly, "Finally!" Dean swiveled his head, there they were. Desmond was wearing the same clean, white hoodie he wore days before while Shaun was dressed preppy as usual. Dean glanced over them, as his eyes jumped directly to Rebecca. She wore a nice grey blouse that matched the hair clip that brushed her bangs out of her heart-shaped face… Before she stood up and spoke out to help Dean, He wouldn't have given her a second glance. Now, though, she radiated with an attractiveness that he couldn't quite put his finger on. Was it her sad-looking eyes that seemed to be tired of all the fighting? Or maybe it was her slight smile whenever she spoke to him?

_The 12:45 flight to Dublin is ready to depart_

"Well," Shaun clapped his hands together, "that's enough dilly-dallying for now." He took point and speed-walked towards their flight. Bill patted Dean's shoulder, adjusted his travel bag, and followed Shaun's lead.

Dean shoved his hands into his pockets, sorting his thoughts. When they got to Dublin, they'd find their contact, Mr. Matt Donahue, and escort him to Canada in exchange for important papers. Suddenly, he felt a tug on his arm as Rebecca wrapped her arm around his. He blushed slightly and looked her in the eye. It felt right, very right, but he was confused.

"Didn't you read your papers?" Rebecca nuzzled to his chest, "I'm _Mrs. _Jacqueline Hoover!"

Dean felt his face become very hot. He scanned the line ahead of them to keep his mind off of things. In front of him was Shaun and Desmond quarreling about something, and to his right he heard Bill flirting with a hostess. He strained his eyes, activating his Eagle Vision. His friends shone blue, and just ahead of them, he saw an air marshal, glowing red, disguised as a hippie backpacker. An odd patch of grey suddenly bobbed through the otherwise navy blue crowd, disappearing around the corner… Dean didn't think much of it, as the line ahead of him progressed.

Finally on board, Rebecca was seated next to Dean in the center row. Bill and Desmond were seated elsewhere in the compartment while Shaun, somehow, ended up in first class. The flight attendant was giving the usual pre-flight speech as the last of the passengers filed into their seats. Reclining in his seat, Dean rested. He felt Rebecca's hand slip into his, fingers between fingers. She rested her head on his shoulder and smiled. She was good at acting. Really good. For the first time in a while, he was at ease with himself.


End file.
